


Trying to Heal

by teenymeanie



Category: The Arcana (Game), The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 23:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenymeanie/pseuds/teenymeanie
Summary: You wake up from the third nightmare in three days. This time, you see an image you just can't shake, and turn to Asra for help.





	Trying to Heal

When you first opened your eyes, you didn’t have the words to describe what you saw. In the jumbled world without language, you were only input--the scent of myrrh and the cold night creeping in through the window, the warmth of a bed, wide eyes observing you cautiously. A pervasive wrongness crept up your spine, a sense that you should recognize the room, that you should know those eyes, that bed, your name, the arms wrapped around you. But you could only find wordless, clumsy sounds and the confusing wetness on your cheeks. 

\---

For the third night in a row, you wake up from a nightmare.   

It was simply Asra, circled by the leaves of the weeping willow tree at the palace, leaning against its trunk as a storm raged around him. It acted like an umbrella, shielding him from most of the rain, but he looked like he wouldn’t care if he drowned in it. His eyes swam with tears, and just as you stepped forward, to tell him it’s okay, you’re here, his legs gave out and he slid to the ground. He cupped his hands and yelled something inaudible, an echo from far away. Again, and again. You willed your legs to move and his shoulders shook, slumped over his knees. You couldn’t help him.

Then you woke up. It wasn’t gruesome, it wasn’t scary. There were no monsters. Yet the image of him so lost, and so unreachable, chills you despite the balmy room.

You can’t shake the deja vu. 

In his sanctuary, you’re surrounded by him. The silvery light coming through the window above you just barely illuminates bits of the life he lives here---the succulents cluttering the countertop and tables, the half-read books stacked together, wooden spoons and small bits of fabric and even thinner books marking where he left off. The tiny clay figurines all arranged in a row. You wipe your tears and feel Asra’s comforting presence beside you. His breath is steady and slow… still asleep. 

The deja vu is getting old. It started happening eerily often after you accepted your assignment from the Countess. You’ve had moments like this before, where your mind needs to catch up with the rest of you. But in the past week your episodes of half-remembering have only grown more intense, vivid, and numerous.

Anything could trigger it; the way the rain patters against the window of your bedroom, the smell of cinnamon and dried apple that wafts up the stairs when Asra makes tea, the shop bell’s thin ringing when a customer arrives. And for a moment, these tiny things lift you out of a mist you didn’t know you lived in, like seeing the world through frosted glass your whole life until one fleeting moment makes it shatter, and everything becomes clear, real, and close. But as quick as it comes, it always fades, leaving you floundering for the cause, the sensation that may have unlocked a bit of the wide blank space of your past. 

Tears well up again, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You’re lucky not to have a headache. Asra warned you that trying to remember your past could hurt you, but you can’t help it. Your first memory is waking up in his protective arms. The thick fog in your head, the clumsiness of your tongue, unable to speak, to ask, where am I? Who are you? Am I safe here? 

Asra sighs in his sleep, pulling you out of the memory. 

You shift quietly, turning to face him as his chest rises and falls, the curve of his cheek glowing silver in the early light. His white hair curls every which way, sticking straight up in places. You’re ashamed of those times at the beginning, bumbling and confused, but you’re grateful, too. Asra taught you everything you know. He lets you try new spells at your own pace, he holds your hands in crowds, shares your bread, and smiles when he sees you. Sleeps next to you, but not too close. So why are there still questions you feel you can’t ask? Why can you still not find the words for the way your chest aches when he goes away to a place you can’t follow? 

You trace his arm with your finger, thinking, and he doesn’t stir. As safe as you are in the sanctuary--the protective wards outside still buzz at the edges of your awareness--you don’t want to go back to sleep to see the same painful picture. You hate to wake him, but you know you won’t be any help to the investigation if you can’t sleep. 

“Asra?” you say, your voice weak. You hesitate before interlacing your fingers with his. He startles, slowly coming to life. He kisses your knuckles almost reflexively. 

“Mm?” he manages to say. His eyes blink open and he wipes your cheek with his thumb. “What’s wrong?”

“I had another nightmare.” For a split second, he looks like the lost, empty Asra you saw in your dream, and you can’t bear to see it. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “It was about you.” 

His look of concern this time is enough to crack you. You reach out for him and he obliges instantly, wrapping his arms around your waist as you pull him close, close, closer. You bite back tears. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.” 

You try to calm your shaking, squeezing him tighter. He rubs your back while you relax, breathing deeply and focusing on his breath, in, out, until you can finally speak without completely dissolving. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the look of pure fondness he gives you is enough to make you ache again. 

“I know I have gaps in my memory,” you start, “and I know there are very good reasons to go slowly rather than try and remember. But sometimes I can’t help it. My mind fills in blanks I didn’t know I had. And then I want more, and more, and I want to figure out where it all starts.” 

He hums quietly, nodding. You continue. 

“They don’t hurt me, but…” But they’re evidence of what you’re missing. A huge span of your life is completely void. No name, no words, no touch, no smells, no soft pillows or book piles or sanctuaries in the desert. Nothing at all. “Sometimes I wish I could just remember. Even if the memory makes me cry, or scares me, or hurts. At least it’s something.” 

You can’t stand how alone you can feel in a room full of people you like, people you’ve known and grown to understand the past three years, because this echo refuses to stop. What’s worse, forgetting your past, or having no past at all? 

Asra rubs circles on your hip, still holding you close as if you might scatter into bits. “I want to keep you safe,” he says. His voice is creaky from sleep. “You’ve gotten so much stronger recently. Maybe it’s time to let those memories come to you, and explore them in a way that feels natural.” He smiles, and you feel yourself smiling, too. 

“Is it really that simple?” 

“Maybe… or maybe not,” he says. “No matter what, I’m here to help you while you try.”

Sometimes, when you get this way and the nightmares keep you up in your own bed at the shop, feelings find you that aren’t so noble. You’re jealous of your past self for knowing Asra, and you’re jealous of Asra for knowing your past. You know it’s irrational, and the wave of guilt that washes over you doesn’t help, but you feel it. The two people you desperately want to reach, to connect with, can’t help you remember because you could get hurt. Again, you have to do it yourself. But, you realize, you won’t be doing it alone. 

Asra closes his eyes, still rubbing relaxing circles and calming you, and you imagine how easy it would be to reach out and touch him.  _ Really _ touch him, to hold him and be held, and not just for comfort. Would he let you? Would he want you? You touch his cheek, wondering, and he sighs quietly, holding your forearm in return.

“Thank you,” you whisper. The dark little room preserves the words midair. 

You’re tired, you’re lonely, you’re inches away from that frosted glass in your mind with a hammer at the ready. The pang in your stomach says that if you don’t do it now, you’ll never do it, and you’ll spend who knows how long wishing you had and wondering if you could have been happy. So you brace yourself for rejection, or a headache, or another nightmare, and you do something incredibly stupid and just as satisfying. You kiss him. 

It only takes a second for you to find your brain and pull away, heart thrumming in your chest. Asra looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time---like  _ he’s _ the one who stepped out of the fog and is seeing you clear and close. And by some miracle, he kisses you back, his lips soft against yours. That ache inside you melts into sweetness. Your fingers roam his hair, his shoulder, his chest, and his steady hand on your waist holds you flush against him. 

You feel like you’re soaring. There’s no nightmare, no emptiness, no ache, just the quiet sighing between you and the touch you realize you’ve wanted all along. Looking at Asra---his eager face, his mussed hair---you need him. You kiss him again, deeper this time, his tongue tracing your lower lip, again, as he tangles his fingers in your hair, again, catching him with a quick bite. 

“I’m so glad you woke me up,” he tries to joke, his voice weak as you begin a trail of kisses down his neck. You laugh, surprised by how easy this is, how familiar. If you knew it would be like this, the giddiness in your chest and the excited nerves in your hands, you would have found the daring months ago. Years ago. As you move together---him pulling you into his lap, you nipping at his ear and earning a quick, low moan---it feels right, somehow. It feels like your body knows him, has known him longer than your mind. Something clicks. 

“Asra,” you say, meeting his eyes. “I missed you.” 

You swear, you can see his heart break, just like that, and in an instant he’s pulling you to him, kissing you with an intensity you didn’t know he had, parting your lips with his tongue and holding your hips, hard. You slip your hands under the sheer fabric of his shirt, making him hum. You trail from his chest to his waist to his hips, raising goosebumps on his skin, and a delighted laugh bubbles out of you when he presses a kiss to your neck, sucking gently. Your face reddens. You know you want him---your own body started acting on that fact before your brain even wondered---but you hadn’t expected things to feel so natural, so easy. It feels like picking up where you left off, a place on a timeline you don’t remember, but is still a part of you. 

He looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, clearly entranced, while his fingers ghost up your back. His touch is cooling in the desert air. You slip your thin tunic over your head and toss it aside. 

“Beautiful,” he says. He practically  _ purrs _ . 

You laugh and pull him up to you, closer, closer, wrapping your legs around him. “You’re not so bad yourself.” 

He kisses you, surprising you with a new sweetness. One small kiss, and you feel his love for you pure and true, as clear as speaking. You feel the same pain and desperation from your nightmare, weaker now, slowly overcome with a warmth that takes your breath away. You feel the emptiness of Asra beneath the willow tree and the wide gap in your memory you may never fill slowly healing over with a sense of calm, safety, and comfort. Though you know you may never recover all the memories you lost, you feel more like yourself than ever since you woke up three years ago. 

The sun finally breaks over the horizon, filling the room with pale pink. You can see the details of Asra now---the dimple as he smiles up at you, the small freckles dotting his nose---and you realize that somewhere in the flurry of touches and looks and comfort, you found the words you needed. You finally understand the ache, the fog, the missing words since you woke up in his arms three years ago, and the new knowledge lifts an unbelievable weight from your shoulders. 

“I love you,” you say. You feel as light as a petal, as high as a cloud. “I love you!” 

Asra hugs you to him, pressing a kiss to your chest. 

“I love you, too,” he says, beaming. You tackle him, pecking his cheeks, his hair, his nose, his mouth. Your heart sings it like a chorus.  _ Love you, love you, love you _ . 

When you fall asleep again, the rising sun painting the sanctuary walls red and orange, there’s no nightmare. There’s no empty, no worry, and nothing is missing. There’s just Asra’s steady breathing, his arms around you, and the wordless love that fills you up. 


End file.
